


Deeper Water

by cerulean_sin (am_bellanoire)



Series: Kiss the Girl (Uma-Centric F/F) [3]
Category: Descendants (Disney Movies)
Genre: Angst, F/F, Light Dom/sub, Post-Descendants 3, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-01
Updated: 2019-12-01
Packaged: 2021-02-24 16:48:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,705
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21621229
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/am_bellanoire/pseuds/cerulean_sin
Summary: “I guess it's true what they say,” you would be ashamed of the breathless quality to your voice if not for the way her chest is heaving and her eyes are slightly unfocused, “you can take a girl out of the Isle, but can't take the Isle out of the girl, rightdrage?”“You haven't called me that in a long time.”Why does she have to sound sopleased. Eyes and voice all soft and demure, every much the lady of the court she's become. You want to both kiss and stab that look off her face.“Yeah, well, old habits don't really die, do they?”**sequel to Deep Water
Relationships: Mal/Uma (Disney)
Series: Kiss the Girl (Uma-Centric F/F) [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1514453
Comments: 6
Kudos: 39





	Deeper Water

As soon as you answer the knocked summons at the door, you collide head on into a wall of purple, ivory, coral, and jade. Your heart gives a nasty lurch in your chest, your brows knit , and you attempt to slam the door shut but a well placed foot blocks it at the jamb.

“Uh-uh,” you huff, glaring at her with as much venom you can muster, “you can't be here now.”

But of course, her being her, it's not enough. Your ire doesn't affect her, it probably never has. Not really. She continues to stand there as if she's prepared to wait all night if she has to. You both know how stubborn she is, how unrelenting she can be once she's made up her mind about something. It's one of the many things that drew you to her in the first place. 

“Let me in, I just want to talk.”

 _Talk_. Yeah right. Even with this truce existing between the two of you now, even though you technically have her to thank for you and your crew being settled into Auradon, you and her, the history between you bleeds into the present. You know that look in those emerald eyes, you've seen it many times before. But she's always held sway over you. When it comes to her, she's the siren and you, the sailor tempted to ruin. With a growled expletive that comes from your very soul, you step aside and allow her into your room. 

“Make it quick,” you say as you close the door with a little more force than necessary for such a delicate piece of plaster, hesitating a split second before clicking the lock into place. 

“I was hoping this would be a little longer than _quick_.” 

_Gods_ , that purring thing she can lace into her words never fails to make your inner thighs throb. Nothing has changed about that, but you've gotten a little better at concealing the affect she has on you and your facial expression manages to remain stoic and just a bit annoyed. You give yourself a mental round of applause. 

“Then why are you _here_ and not somewhere getting a royal dick down from your king?” 

She blinks as if surprised by the remark and it's another victory for you. But she regains her composure in the next moment and decides to switch up her tactics. She loses the coy, simpering expression and you smirk as her eyes harden, the green burning like emerald flames. 

“You know why I'm here.”

Her patience is running thin and you feel not one iota of remorse for it. 

“Do I?”

“Don't play dumb, Uma, it's not cute.”

You can keep this up all night. In fact, you'd rather that. This banter, this back and forth. Maybe then she will get the hint and leave you be. You aren't keen to take a tumble into this particular rogue wave. Not now. Not again. You've always been an excellent swimmer but for some reason you've never been able to escape this current. This riptide. Still, you can't help but give it your best effort. 

“Oh, so now I'm cute.”

You almost laugh at the way her nostrils flare. She looks like she might actually breathe fire and wouldn't _that_ be a sight coming from her human form. She can be so cold, so in control. But like you, she's a master at facade. When it's just the two of you, that coldness quickly melts, that control is relinquished. She could never hide her true self from you, just the way you could never hide yours from her. Perhaps that's why you've loved and hated each other in equal measure. 

“Can I finish?”

“You shouldn't have started,” you sigh with a roll of your eyes. You know what's going to happen next and you know that you're powerless to actually stop it. Short of drawing your cutlass and physically incapacitating her, what will be will be. And part of that scares you, it always has. For someone to have such power, hold such thrall over you. The other part, though, the more wicked part of you is thrilled. 

Sure enough, your instincts prove correct. She launches herself at you and you stumble backward a step or two from the force of the collision. You catch her around the waist and her lips are on yours. It's been so long since you've kissed. Years. But this isn't sneaky, stolen kisses out of the sight of prying eyes, clumsy, awkward, and unsure. There is nothing clumsy in the way her mouth greedily devours yours, nothing awkward in the way her teeth nip at your bottom lip. Nothing unsure in the way her tongue meets yours, spurred by the gasp her bite evokes. But you kiss her back, giving as good as you're getting. She tastes of scorched strawberries, smoky and sweet. You tighten your grip on her, your nails digging into her sides with enough force to bruise and she moans, this broken, throaty sound that sends of vibration through you, threaded with lust and want and yearning and this burning ache that shoots straight to your core. You push her away, just hard enough to throw her balance. 

“I guess it's true what they say,” you would be ashamed of the breathless quality to your voice if not for the way her chest is heaving and her eyes are slightly unfocused, “you can take a girl out of the Isle, but can't take the Isle out of the girl, right _drage_?”

The term of endearment is out of your mouth before you can stop it. Old Danish you had picked up from your mother as a child. You hardly ever use the language, only bits and pieces here and there to the point where Harry and Gil are the only ones that know what you're talking about when random words are spoken. Them. And _her_. 

“You haven't called me that in a long time.”

Why does she have to sound so _pleased_. Eyes and voice all soft and demure, every much the lady of the court she's become. You want to both kiss and stab that look off her face. 

“Yeah, well, old habits don't really die, do they?”

She tries to rush you again and this time, you fend off the advance. A little halfheartedly, but success is success and you manage to keep her at bay, tightening your grip on her arms, your eyes hard as you appraise her. She's all flushed, incarnadine in her pale cheeks, lips fixed in a pout. Dear Neptune if her precious boy king could see her now. 

“Ben's good for you. I'm not gonna help you screw that up.”

Her laughter is mocking and she's circling you now, like a violet haired vulture. It's almost enough to make you wish your sword wasn't across the room, sheathed in its scabbard.

“You think he doesn't know? A blind person could tell there's _something_ between us.”

 _Gods_ , the more things change, the more they stay the same. All about her, everything is. It's always been. 

“ _Was_ , Mal. There was. And then you left and I moved on.”

“Is that right?”

Her voice drops to that purr, more feral cat than dragon and she walks you backward toward the bed. You want to hate yourself for allowing her to make you prey right now, but the two of you have danced this dance too many times to count. It makes no sense to change the rules now. 

“It is.” 

“I'm not so sure. Convince me, _Shrimpy_.”

You know what she's trying to do. And yeah, a year ago, two years ago, back on the Isle, it might have worked. But not anymore. 

“Not gonna work this time.”

To you she's always been at her best when she's angry and your words have pissed her off. 

“ _Damn_ you.”

She attacks again, with tongue and teeth and hands that are more claws than fingers. She rips at the buttons and zippers of your leathers, baring mahogany skin and even though you've enough strength to stop it, you don't. Your hands follow suit, tearing clothing away and baring smooth, alabaster skn that makes you want to lick your lips. It's already gone too far and the sound that bubbles from your throat is a cross between a moan and whimper, annoyingly desperate, and it makes you mad. You flip your positions in a rough, but fluid motion, glaring down at her as your sword hand grabs her by the throat, squeezing not hard enough to actually choke the breath from her, but tight enough to give away your ire. 

“This what you want? Huh? You wanna fuck all this _good_ shit up, for this? For me?”

You release her throat and pinch a plump, dusky pink nipple between your calloused fingers while at the same time your other hand, delves between her legs. She's already wet even with the little foreplay, and you know those slick folds almost better than your own. You rub her clit, slow even circles and her eyes roll back, a soft sound leaving her lips. And you pull away as if burnt. Oh, no, that's not going to work at all. 

“I ain't your little king,” you growl against the shell of her ear before using your teeth to nip at the sensitive flesh, “don't gimme those princess moans.”

With those words, you slide two fingers into her and she lets out a fully bodied, husky groan that goes straight to the apex of your thighs. Right. That's more like it. There's nothing really stopping you now, not anymore. If it's a fuck she wants, it's a fuck she's going to get. You curl your fingers, brushing against the spot you know never fails to drive her insane and then proceed to ravage her in only the way you know how, your pace fervid and frenetic. And she's nothing but a writhing, panting, mewling mess, desperately clutching at every part of you she can reach, one hand tangled in your turquoise tresses, the other gripping your arms, scratching your back, and all the while her hips bucking meeting each stroke with wanton abandon. 

“I should turn right on top of you,” you mutter dryly, suddenly overcome by a maelstrom of rage, “You'd like that, wouldn't you, trying to take all eight of me at once.”

She's stretched to her limits now with the addition of your fourth finger and her brows furrow as she gasps sharply, eyes blazing verdant, tinged with pain. Part of you wants to punish her. For leaving the Isle, for leaving you, for finding another. Part of you wants to be merciless and fuck her until she can't walk a straight line for days, fuck away all the hurt, all the hate, all the love, all the tumultuous feelings she's managed to dredge up within you for nineteen damned years. But that's not what this is about. It's never been about pain and you're not going to shred her like confetti simply out of spite. 

“I won't though,” you drawl, removing the extra digit, feeling her relax now that you're treading more comfortable waters, “Would suck to get sent back for defiling the future queen.”

She's close and you can tell. Her walls clench around your fingers and she's cursing now. She always curses when she's about to come and you chuckle, darkly, imagining the blush that probably stains Ben's cheeks whenever he brings her to this point. If he even can, else she wouldn't have accosted you. For someone who never learned to swim, Mal's got the mouth of a sailor. Just like you. 

“You could have been my queen, you know?” You don't know why you're saying this but you can't take the words back. Despite the way it makes the organ in your chest almost _burn_ to say it, makes a lump form in your throat that you can't seem to swallow. The words spur her on even more though, her nails scratching at your scalp, her sounds of pleasure becoming higher in pitch, wetness flooding your hand, “And we would have ruled the world. You, the skies, and me, the seas. But no, you had other plans didn't you, _lille drage_?”

That's all it takes to bring her over the edge. She comes with a sharp cry, her body tensing, legs quaking, hands tightening in her hair. You can feel the pulse of her core around your fingers that you still continue to drive in and out of her, making her ride that wave. Even after all this time, she's still rapturous to watch as she comes undone, her breathy moans and whimpers, the sound of your name on her lips. Too pretty to put into words. And arrogance can't help but chase guilt and pain in that moment. You _like_ what you do to her, what you can reduce her to. A dragon without wings or fangs. Right now, she's just Mal, stripped bare before you in more ways than one, and it really is startling beautiful. 

And then, her being _her_ , after she takes a moment and then another to catch her breath, she tries to regain the control. Tries to flip you onto your back, her fingers grabbing at you with all intention of repaying the favor by wrecking havoc on your aching nerve endings. But you catch her hands at the wrists, squeezing hard as a warning. 

“Nope, not happening.”

You don't think you've ever seen her look more confused in her life. She's stunned, eyes all wide, mouth parted as if she means to say something but can't quite suss it out. She fights against your hold, managing to free her right hand, nails raking against your upper thigh making you have to bite your lip to stifle a hiss of pleasure. 

“You got what you came here for,” _gods_ you want to praise the steel in your voice. It would be so easy just to let her have her way, wouldn't it? And your body, well your body is about a hairpin trigger away from betraying you. You're wet enough to drown her at this point, wanting relief. 

“Uma,” she scoffs in disbelief, but that's a facade too. You can see that she's starting to get tense, the haze of satisfaction rapidly dissipating from her jade irises, “Let me just - “ 

“Look. Things between us, they are what they are. I've loved you, hated you, liked you after hating you. But, this isn't going to happen. You got it good with the king, girl, and after what went down with the whole ember thing, hell, I don't think I could ever hate you again. But we're not doing this anymore. Ever. This is the last time.”

And you mean it. You have to mean it. You disengage, climbing off of her and out of the bed, needing some distance between you both if you really are going to make good on the words you spoke. 

“You're just saying that,” and there's something distressed in her tone now as she pushes herself up onto her elbows, purple hair spilling over her bare shoulders, “I told you, Ben, he knows. He knows how I feel about you, how I've always felt.”

“This ain't about Ben,” you bite out through clenched teeth, grabbing a robe from your closet and wrapping it around yourself, “ _I_ don't share. And if you think I'm gonna sit back and watch you kiss your man and then touch me with the same damned hands you touched him with, you got another thing coming. Your Majesty.” 

That's what does it. Her expression changes, a sheet of ice freezing her features. She knows you're serious now and she slowly rises from the bed, reaching for her clothes.

“I hate you.”

“No you don't.”

Because she doesn't. And you don't hate her. This is well passed hate now. You don't even know what to call it. It's just...too _much_ and you're actually afraid you might cry. Hell, even her eyes are looking a little glassy. 

“I – I -”

There's really nothing to be said, is there? 

“Yeah, I know. Feeling's mutual.”

**Author's Note:**

> While I don't condone infidelity in monogamous relationships, I feel there is so much intricacy in the relationship between Mal and Uma and I've explored a bit of it in some of my other stories. So yeah, this basically wrote itself.
> 
> Anyway, thank you for reading, hope you enjoyed it and feedback would be greatly appreciated!! 
> 
> **drage -- dragon  
> ** lille drage -- little dragon


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